Opposing Darkness
by Sylphien
Summary: A man lost in shadows, bound by a dark fate. A woman raised by honour, seeking familial love. When light and darkness collide, what will shadows reveal? Can bitter enemies at war with one another find love? A re-telling of Gwendolyn and Oswald's story.
1. The Shadow Knight

**I do not own Odin Sphere or any of the lovely inhabitants of Erion.**

**I especially do not own this story, this is a retelling of Oswald and Gwendolyn's adventure. I will use all of the original game script, with my own additions to flesh out their interactions and new scenes to re-imagine what might have happened off screen which we didn't get to see. Enjoy.**

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With a ghastly smile, Oswald ripped his sword through the tough hide of the fearsome dragon. Black armour rattled a victory chorus as the dark blood of the beast started to seep into the earth beneath him; half hidden amongst the fog of cloud which was ever present at this altitude.

It was only he and the dragon on the cliff top plateau, and soon to be only he alone. Surely the creature could take little more of the Belderiver's power? As if bidden by his thoughts, the jewelled sword in his hand flashed an angry red, and he felt the dark power it invoked tremble throughout his body.

The dragon lying at his feet let out a painful wheeze and its eyelids fluttered, armoured slits turning towards the dark knight, filled with neither hatred nor fear. Hindel was its name, and it knew there was no escaping this death, it had always known that.

"As I thought," said the dragon; scaled lips pulling back over sharp teeth, the mockery of a smile. "Trying to avoid ones fate is like trying to stop the stars."

The young man stood uneasily with his sword drawn, suspecting a trick. His white hair was tousled by the breeze, displaying the undercut of red at its base. He need not draw further on the dark power now; merely wait for the dragon to die.

Hindel laughed ironically, half choking on humour in its pain. "Not even those who see the future can keep from carrying out their fates."

Oswald frowned, lowering the Belderiver slightly. "Why were you holding back? I was open several times."

"Do not worry about me," drawled the dragon, "not at this late stage. Your Belderiver is a weapon without peer." His eyes glazed slightly as he looked up into the heavens. "My time is up. You must use my death to validate the claims of its power."

Oswald looked at the sword in his hand; it pulsed with the same energy which had filled him during their battle. It was a cold, merciless power, which called to him even now. He held it at bay as it sang for the dragon's death, clenching his free hand to maintain his self-control. Despite what he had done, and what he must do, he did feel pity for the creature.

As if reading his thoughts, Hindel's teeth flashed in a caustic smile. "Take my head and announce your victory to the commander of the Fairies."

_Melvin._

Oswald did not know how the dragon knew that his father had sent him, but the blame of this death lay elsewhere. "You should be aware that all of this was caused by that country… Ragnanival. But _they_ did not hire me."

He turned from the dragon then, looking down on the kingdom in miniature below them. A country at war; the Aesir would destroy all of Erion if they could not be stopped. This death was justified, it must be; the power of the Belderiver must be proven so that he could fulfil his purpose. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. "My father specifically asked me to do this."

Hindel wheezed again, his eyelids were now heavy weights obstructing his sight. "He is not your father," he coughed. "Your real father is a man named Edgar."

Oswald sighed; his gaze leaving the façade of a peaceful nation, the view from this standpoint hid the ravages of warfare below. Instead, he glanced coldly over his shoulder, into the slitted eyes of the dying dragon.

"That means nothing," he spat, his tone acid. "That is just the name of a man who abandoned a baby." His expression softened slightly for a moment, but the lure of the Belderiver soon hardened it again. "Melvin is my only father. Even though I am a human he has raised me as his own."

The dragon shuddered, its eyes dimming. "Do not forget that... when the time comes."

The young man frowned, irritated at the prophetic pretence. "You talk as if you know everything. Let me cease your tongue's flapping," he hissed. He felt the darkness gather with his anger.

"Shadow master who threatens the darkness..." Hindel's eyes were silver blinded and sightless as he spoke. His voice was a feeble quivering as he forced his prediction upon them. "Seek the bird."

Oswald's hand tightened around the Belderiver, its urgent pull compelling him to let the darkness take over. The rage behind his eyes blinded him, with only this minor catalyst he could feel his humanity slipping away as that dark presence towered above them. If only the dragon would cease this babbling and die.

"…That shall be your destiny," croaked Hindel.

His fury exploded.

The shadow washed over him, burning like a furious flame as his sword pierced through that same darkness, a blade of his anger. He felt it uncoil as he stepped atop the dragon's neck to silence it forever. The creature closed its eyes and spoke no further, but it was too late for silence now. There was enough of him left to make a quick end of it, some sense of humanity remained as he plunged his blade into the dragons soft neck muscles.

As the creature sighed a death rattle, the shadow slipped away again, and he swayed at the loss of it; feeling weak and crippled as he returned to his human form. Hindel was dead.

The Belderiver still glowed temptingly in his hand.

He was filled with a bitter distaste for his loss of self, but turned the self-disgust outward. "Hmph," he snorted, lowering his weapon with a scornful smirk. "It is as Melvin said."

He stepped down from the dead dragon's neck, the dull clunk of his armour now eerily loud atop the silent plateau. His gaze returned to the country laid out before him, and he turned his blade towards it. "As long as I have this Belderiver, even the dragons shall fear me."

It was a long journey down Horn Mountain and back to Ringford, but an unburdened one. He did not take the dragons head. Some guilt over the life he had taken had remained and it had turned his stomach at the thought of desecrating the corpse. He had killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands of the Aesir on the raging battlefield he now navigated, his hands were forever stained with blood, but they were not the innocents the great beast had been. The troops of Ragnanival were a blight; they had brought the war to the borders of Ringford, but only after they had realised the kingdom was weakened and divided by the war between the fairies and dwarves. Now Ringford was peaceful again, but its inhabitants were trapped inside its borders, only leaving their country in aid of the war effort at the battlegrounds beyond the forest.

The dark power of his blade chilled him, and even now he slipped through the battlefield shadows silently, hoping to go unnoticed on his flight back to Ringford, prevented from the need to draw it. It was possible his father would be angry that he had not brought Hindel's head with him, but somehow he doubted Queen Elfaria would be thrilled to receive such a gory trophy, no matter what it's procurement might prove.

Finally, he slipped under the cool canopy of trees along the border of their territory. The forest was its own form of defence, but even so Oswald felt that his presence going undetected by his own people was a concern; if he could penetrate their borders, then why not the Aesir? True his power was fearful, but they had their own champions: The mighty Demon Lord, Odin, King of Ragnanival, and Odin's witch. The pair were legends amongst the fairies, he had heard many tales of their fearful might in battle, although he had never witnessed it for himself.

As if to allay his fears a unicorn knight stepped from beneath the shadow of a great tree and challenged him.

"Who passes here, be they friend or some doomed soul?" The unicorn gnashed his teeth, recognising him instantly as he stepped into the light. "Doomed indeed, but not an enemy… for now; what are you doing out here shadow knight?"

Oswald halted before him. "I have returned from my mission, I seek Melvin."

The unicorn snorted, glaring at the Belderiver. "You stink of death."

"Yes, we are at war, we all stink of death."

"You were born with death on you _human_; this is not your place."

Oswald felt the sword at his side thrum with energy, but reined back the dark urge to draw it. "My father is here; my place is with him, serving. Until he tells me to go I will not. Now, will you tell me where he is, or shall I forge a bloody path to his side?"

The unicorn let out a nervous huff and stepped back ever so slightly. "You are all bluster, you would never raise a hand to the people of the forest, the stain on your _father's_ name would be too great."

"Indeed," agreed Oswald. "But the Belderiver is a weapon without equal, and a weapon beyond control, at times. I would not strike you willingly, but my control might slip should you continue to deny me passage."

Begrudgingly, the unicorn stepped back into the shadow of the tree, once again opening the space into lane which led to the castle gardens. "Go then, and leave your accursed power unsated. Melvin seeks an audience with the queen; you will find him in the castle."

Oswald observed the unicorn momentarily for signs of subterfuge, but found no lie in his actions. He had made no friends amongst the fairies, as a human he was not considered much better than the Aesir to the people of the forest. Since taking the dark power of the Belderiver he had made enemies though, he was feared. It was only a matter of time before someone acted against him, better that he was prepared to evade attack, than be forced to counter it, putting both he and his father in a tenuous position.

Following the path he stepped out into the Ringford gardens. As always it was perpetual twilight here. Moon blossoming flowers were boasting soft glowing orbs at their centre, reflecting the mother light above them in the starlit sky. The soft, pastel colours of this illumination were of every spectrum imaginable, and their brilliance bounced off the trees which sheltered them in a pageant of ethereal beauty. It created such a spectacle that Oswald stopped to drink it in, as he found he did each time he entered the gardens, struck anew by the splendour on each visit.

Remembering his task he moved onward, in a hallowed place such as this even the Belderiver seemed to sleep, what blasphemy that the Aesir thought to invade here. He stepped into the castle, watching fairies and dwarves alike turn away from him as he cut a path towards the throne room, fear and disgust in their eyes. He found his father before he need enter, pacing restlessly.

"Oswald."

He bowed to his father, and the commander of the fairies gave him a dazzling smile. The lack of blood relation between them was instantly obvious to any onlooker. Melvin was light where Oswald was dark, his hair a cascade of pale gold curls, tall and lithe with an inhuman, otherworldly beauty about him. He moved with measured grace, every action weighed and considered before it was taken. It was his wings which clearly drew the line between them, though, the glasslike dragon fly appendages which fanned from his back, glossy and crystal-like. This marked him as fairy, as its lack marked Oswald as other.

"Melvin, I have completed my task."

"Welcome back Oswald, this is excellent timing. I am on my way to Elfaria now, walk with me."

Oswald fell into step besides his father, ignoring the stares of the castle inhabitants.

Melvin glanced over at him, perplexed. "What have you done with the head? If you have done as I asked then surely you must have it."

Oswald hesitated, regretful to shame his father. "I have not returned with it. Hindel lies dead at my hand, but I have not brought the proof you requested, I… I apologise."

His father gave an irritated huff. "Well, never mind then. The proof is your word for now, the Belderiver has exceeded all that we have hoped for. Brom must be praised for the birth of this creation."

Oswald considered telling his father of the darkness of the weapon. He knew it was his desire to have the sword mass produced. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of the dark army it would bring about. They were at war, however, and sacrifices must be made.

The two men stopped in the doorway of the throne room and Melvin knocked twice on the large oak door. The sprawling luminescent marble, which made up the winding halls of the castle, made Oswald's eyes water. He felt out of place here, dressed all in black armour, a stain on this pristine place.

"Melvin."

Both men turned to see the Queen of the fairies approaching from behind them; it seemed she had not been in the throne room waiting as they had suspected. Oswald bowed low, paying his respects to his queen, Melvin did not, he was her brother, and his rank and family ties allowed such exceptions.

"Greetings, Queen Elfaria," he smiled. "I thought you would be waiting within," he indicated the door to the chamber they had stopped before.

"There was something I needed to attend to; my daughter has been causing some uproar amongst her tutors." Elfaria returned his smile with a rueful one of her own, but even so, she was glorious.

Her kinship with Melvin was obvious, she had every facet of his quiet grace, and the same long, golden curls spilling across her shoulders. Her dress was layered green silk chemise, slit heavily up one side to display the curve of a perfect leg. She was crowned with flowers, fresh and growing amongst her hair; and behind them stood the grandeur of her perfect butterfly wings. The intricate pattern of her swallowtail wing span was accented with hues of blue, pink and purple, which seemed to ebb with the same glow of the Ringford moon lilies. She was not just beautiful though, she stood tall and proud, every inch a queen, with an air of authority and duty.

"I wanted to meet and bring you news, but now Oswald has returned, and instead I seek this audience to bring you hope for our victory."

"Glad tidings indeed," the queen answered, turning secretive eyes on Oswald. "What plan have you brought me to improve our struggles?"

Melvin's eyes became cunning, and he indicated for Oswald to draw his blade. Reluctantly, he did, feeling the strain of dark whispering as his hand clasped the handle.

"This is the strongest blade among all Psyphers," began Melvin, indicating the Belderiver in Oswald's hand. "It surpasses even the might of the Demon Lord's weapon, Balor."

Elfaria gave him a shrewd look, glancing doubtfully at the sword before her. "I have heard that the power of the sword is enough to ward off curses." There was a pointed look in Oswalds direction as she spoke, which Melvin followed with understanding.

"Hm!? Ah..." He turned to his foster son, tapping his top lip impatiently. "Good. Leave us, Oswald."

Oswald hesitated for a moment and then bowed to both parties, taking his leave somewhat begrudgingly. Was he not to be party to the discussion because he had failed to bring back Hindel's head? Or was the queen also fearful of his dark power and uncomfortable in his presence? There was little he could do about it; he must simply wait until Melvin summoned him to explain what the outcome of his proposal had been. If Brom could mass produce the Psypher weapons then they could easily win their war with the Aesir.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he caught sight of Brom in the distance, standing in the passage way outside of the kitchens. It was unusual for the dwarf to enter the castle, ever since the dwarves had fallen under the fairy yolk they hesitated to leave the forges they had been granted. They were the only homes they had left now after leaving their own smithies behind them, and it was almost as if they felt stepping away from them would mean having this last allowance stripped away.

He liked Brom, and knew his father trusted him. He was the only man of Oswald's aquaintance, besides his father, who did not seem to fear him. Perhaps this was because his own hand had turned the Belderiver and brought it into being, Oswald's weapon was the fruit of his dark labours. Looking to pass time while he waited for Melvin's report, he made his way eagerly to the little mans side.

"I did not think to find you inside the palace," he said, leaning over the dwarf. "Have you come to await the outcome of Melvin's talk with Queen Elfaria also?"

Brom looked up at him, startled, his face a perplexing tapestry of guilt warring with obedience. Frowning, Oswald took hold of his shoulder, as if to offer assurance.

"What is it?"

Brom glanced around nervously, shuffling his feet and not meeting Oswald's eyes. "I am pulled in two directions at once," he admitted. "I do not know what it is I have created, I fear the cost is too great." He glanced furtively at the sword by Oswald's side.

"What are your concerns?" asked the young man, worried by the dwarfs odd demeanour. "Melvin will be finished with his proposal soon, surely he will hear you on any subject?"

The little man met his eyes for the first time, his face stony. "Oswald... do not place too much trust in Melvin." He wiped his brow, and his eyes turned pleading. "He thinks nothing of you," he murmured quietly.

Oswald felt his back stiffen, his spine felt like ice. His face was shuttered as he stared down at the little man, trusted by his father, who was now suddenly speaking against him with no cause to justify it. Brom must have noticed the change, for his mouth turned stubborn and he continued insistently. "Let me prove it-"

"Speak not of Melvin." Oswald hissed, feeling hot anger lick down his veins. "I will not hear a word against him."

How dare this betrayer besmirch his father's good name? He had been right all along, the fairy court was a nest of vipers, the lot of them. The only person he could trust, the only one with no agenda other than to save this country, was his father. Ever since the dwarves had risen up against the fairies, and eventually been overcome and enslaved, there had been disquiet amongst the race. Now they were united as one people, but that residual hatred still remained. Was that what this sudden turning in attitude was? A sliver of loathing that was now coming to a head, looking to derail his fathers plans? He would sooner strike them all down than let them double cross the man.

He felt the Belderiver surge with his anger and gritted his teeth, stifling his fury.

"I will take my leave," he grated, turning and almost running from the dwarf side, all to stop him from striking the little man down on the spot. There would be time to tell Melvin of this betrayal later, but firstmost he must leave this place before he acted in anger and brought shame to them both. Perhaps there was still some hope that he was mistaken, that when the dwarf was faced by the commander of the fairys himself, this disposition would prove a misunderstanding. Brom's resolve had always been to assist the war effort, perhaps after a talk with his father this purpose would return. Oswald found he hoped for this, he was fond of the dwarf. It might be nothing more than cowardice which caused him to speak such untruths now; he knew the little man feared the mass production of such powerful weapons for their army would lead only to their destruction.

Oswald continued to run through the palace corridors. He wanted the peace and seclusion of the garden, but knew he was now lost in the twisting passageways which made up the grand estate. Breathing hard, he finally stopped in a darkened corridor, his head spinning as he fought to regulate both his breathing and his control of the Belderiver. As his calm returned, he realised he was not alone in this hidden place, but as yet he remained unnoticed. Two young fairies stood beyond the pillars he was shadowed by, deep in quiet discussion.

"The Demon Lords daughters are evil," muttered the first one, tossing her hair and glancing around furtively. "They lead the Valkyries and eagerly slaughter all they face in battle."

The second fairy nodded, her eyes wide. "It is too much to expect us to fight against such fiends," she whispered. "Each day our army grows weaker, it is only a matter of time until the Aesir invade this space, burning our trees and cutting us all down in the process."

Oswald did not want to interrupt them and stayed hidden, this was not treasonous talk, after all, merely frightened gossip. He slid down the pillar at his back and closed his eyes, his head aching. If only he could block them all out, all this darkness and deceit. The people of the forest were afraid, and that was what drew them into subterfuge and trickery. This battle could not continue on forever, eventually Ringford would fall. Melvin was right, their best chance would be to mass produce the dark weapons and obliterate the Aesir entirely. If Brom did not comply…

He sighed. There was also the Demon Lords daughters to consider, he had not known there was more than one. He only knew of the one they named 'Odin's Witch,' if there were more to contend with, all of them champions, then it was no wonder Melvin was pushing hard to get the Queen to agree to his proposal. The forest would burn soon if such dangers were not taken care of quickly, it was a wonder that they had lasted this long. If only he could have the luck to meet Odin's Witch on the killing field, he could promise her a glorious, Valkyrie death in battle at the end of his sword. In that moment, he swore to himself that if he should ever have that chance, he would make his father proud. The Belderiver's foreboding jewel glowed red with approval at the sentiment.

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**A/N:** I almost feel guilty for telling a story which has already been told, but this is one of my all time favourite love stories between two characters. My head is so full of them, and the scenes we didn't get to see and enjoy, that I felt I just had to make this project happen or go mad. I hope you will enjoy my interpretation of events/feelings etc between the characters. There are far too few fanfictions out there for this amazing game!


	2. Valkyrie

Gwendolyn stood on her bedroom balcony looking up at the spiralling stars in the sky above. Ragnanival, and the Aesir, were sleeping in the city below the castle, but she herself could never sleep on the eve of a battle. She turned at the sound of a light tap on her chamber door, smiling slightly when her sister, Griselda, slipped through it to stand in the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. She was dressed as Gwendolyn was, in a long white nightgown, but where Gwendolyn's hair was loose Griselda had hers pinned up. It was her preference to always be ready for battle in such small details; if she could have slept in her armour then she would have attempted it.

"It is late Griselda," said Gwendolyn in mock irritation, watching her sister's mouth quirk at the dismissal.

"I knew you would still be awake sister." She gave her a knowing smile. "You can never sleep on the eve of battle. Come; let me keep you company until dawn for once, the early hours must be very lonely when you keep your vigil."

It is not a vigil; I simply worry for our country. Our battle against the fairies never seems to wane, and every day I wonder at the purpose of it. So many deaths and I still cannot understand why we must invade that land."

"You are soft hearted as always."

Gwendolyn left the balcony to approach her sister. "But why are you not sleeping tonight? Although I appreciate your companionship, shouldn't you rest before you fly into battle tomorrow?"

"A sentiment I share for your own well-being, but which I know will be ignored. If you will not sleep than nor shall I." She sighed. "Come, sit with me sister, let me brush your hair as mother once did."

Gwendolyn smiled sadly, perching on the end of her bed delicately. She could not remember their mother well, she had been five when she had died from an illness, Griselda had been eight. It was said that her father, King Odin, had been a joyful man when her mother still lived, quick to smile. Now it felt that they were ever a country at war, hardened and proud of that image, but her father had not smiled since her mother's death.

Griselda padded silently across the room and retrieved a fine ebony brush from Gwendolyn's dresser. Settling herself comfortably behind her sister on the bed, she cut the first soft stroke through Gwendolyn's hair. The bristles caressed her head rhythmically, and Gwendolyn felt herself relax slightly, some of her nervous energy ebbing away.

"Will you not take some milk and sleep tonight, little bird? You will need your strength tomorrow."

"What of you sister? Tomorrow you will not wield a brush, but your fine spear. You are the pride of the army, the finest Valkyrie there is. Do not remain here all night with me, I beg you to take rest in your chambers."

She felt Griselda slide a gentle hand over her head, smoothing down layers of silver blonde hair.

"I am not the one they call Odin's Witch, you are the one that has claimed such a ferocious title with the people. I think the pride of the army sits here before me."

Gwendolyn shuddered. She hated that nick name; she wasn't sure whether it was their army or the enemy's army that had started calling her that, but it always chilled her.

"I think we both know that anonymity is proof of far more than a hasty title. You remain unnamed _because_ of the skill of your spear. No enemy remains to speak of you once you fly into battle. There are no survivors to spread word of your might; such is your talent to go unnoticed." She turned back to her sister, regarding her seriously over her shoulder. "That is why father loves you so."

Griselda smiled a small smile. "I think he loves you best because you are more similar to mother. She had a soft heart like you, she was always too kind and that's why the people adored her."

Gwendolyn sighed contently as her sister slid the brush through her hair again. "Will you tell me about her?" she asked.

She felt her sister pause for a moment, considering. "She was a woman who loved music very much. When she was alive the castle was always full of bards and new unknown instruments. She would walk through the castle humming new strains of a song she had heard; completely unaware that she was even doing so. She loved to play hide and seek with us too, and sometimes she would sneak into the kitchen and return with surprises for us." Griselda chucked. "Of course, she was the queen, so it hardly mattered if she got caught there, but it would have ruined the joy of the game."

"Was she very beautiful?"

"Oh yes, she was very lovely, very graceful, and she loved father so much."

"And he loved her."

Griselda was silent for a few moments. "Yes, he loved her." She shifted on the bed, running her fingers through her sister's long hair. "She had the most beautiful dresses too, and they were all blue, just like the colour of your feathers. Her wings were nearly identical to yours."

"I wish I could remember her better," sighed Gwendolyn.

Her sister's hands came to rest firmly on her shoulders. "Is Myris here?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Why, she is in the chamber next door, I imagine." Gwendolyn felt slightly disappointed that the stories of their mother had ended already.

"Good," said Griselda, pushing herself up from the bed and stretching her cramped wings. "Where is your bell?"

"Over by the candle," he sister answered. "What is it that you need?"

"You shall see," smiled Griselda secretly, gliding across the room to ring the summoning bell for her personal maid. Gwendolyn admired the way the flickering light caught her sister's fine form. Lithe and agile, her grand wings stretching from her waist, hues of pink and purple patterned through her glossy feathers. She was always as grand as a princess, but she was a warrior first and foremost, and this was always obvious from the self-assured way she carried herself.

Moments later there was a light knock on the chamber door.

"Enter," murmured her sister, just loudly enough to be heard through the door.

Her pooka maid, Myris, entered hesitantly, bowing her head low to Griselda. Her long furry ears flapped wildly as she did so; Gwendolyn knew that this usually meant she was nervous. For some reason Myris always felt anxious when faced by her elder sister, although Gwendolyn could not say why. Griselda simply had that sort of effect on a lot of people.

Griselda crossed the space between them and knelt down to whisper in Myris's ear. Gwendolyn watched as her maid nodded enthusiastically and bobbed a quick curtsy before hurrying from the room.

"What did you say to her?" she asked.

Griselda smiled at her sister. "I asked her to fetch something for me."

"But what?"

"You shall see."

They waited, and before long Myris returned with reams of fabric in tow, the tiny creature was half lost in its offering. Griselda took the item from her and held it up before her sister.

Gwendolyn gasped. It could only be one of her mother's dresses, and it was beautiful. "Oh, it's lovely, did she often wear this?"

Griselda nodded, a nostalgic look in her eye. "This one was her favourite."

Gwendolyn reached out to run a hand over the fabric. "It makes me feel a little bit closer to her; I can almost imagine her wearing it."

"You'll be able to see the vision itself soon enough," said her sister, shaking the dress lightly. "Try it on."

"No." Gwendolyn shook her head. "I can't, it was mothers."

"She would have wanted you to have it, to remember her. Please little bird, I long to see it on you."

The reluctant sister looked at the dress longingly. "Okay, but only for a moment."

With only her sister and maid present Gwendolyn de-robed boldly, but felt a small glow of embarrassment in her cheeks as she hurried to slip the gown on.

"See here," said her sister, smoothing down her wings. "They sit snugly beneath the dress."

"But what if I should need them? I'm tactically disadvantaged!"

"Ah, yes, that is true," said her sister dreamily. "But back when this was worn there were no wars."

Gwendolyn stared down at the dress wonderingly, as if the gown itself were responsible for peace.

"I wonder if father can remember such times."

"Come," her sister pulled her towards the long wall mirror so she could admire herself.

The dark blue satin spill of the gown had hidden her wings beneath it, bunches of lighter blue chiffon reminding her of the colours of the feather beneath. Her shoulders lay bare, pale and slim like the length of her throat, white like a lily. Silver blonded hair fell heavily to frame her face as her large violet eyes drank in the vision of the dress. As a Valkyrie she had only ever known armour. This dress was something new and wonderful, and she found herself smiling despite herself; even if it, and peace, were no more than a frivolous dream.

"You look just like her," murmured her sister sadly. "I would that father could see you dressed so."

"It cannot be," shrugged Gwendolyn. "We are warriors now; we have no need of fine dresses."

Her sister's face was haunted in the mirror from over her shoulder, lost in memories.

"Will you wear this for me tomorrow sister, to show father?"

Gwendolyn turned to her sister. "I cannot, tomorrow we fly into battle."

"But you need not. I can lead the army alone. Your heart is not in war little bird, I can see this as easily as I can see how alike you are to mother."

Gwendolyn gave her sister an alarmed look. "But father-"

"It is father I think of," replied her sister. "If he can see you thus, and remember mother, perhaps it will bring a smile to his face."

The words sent an ache through Gwendolyn's heart. To make her father happy… to finally see him smile. It would bring her such joy if he could accomplish this one thing.

"Do you not trust me as a warrior, despite your fine words for me earlier?"

"No!" cried Gwendolyn. "I meant every word I said, you are the greatest fighter I have ever known. Only you could stand against the terror of the Shadow Knight!"

"Now you are simply over praising me," chided Griselda.

"Indeed I am not," she protested. She truly believed that even that demon of legend would fall beneath her sister's spear.

"Then you must stand by those words sister; let me lead the armies tomorrow. Stay here, in the castle, little bird, and see if this dress can accomplish what years of war have failed to do. Bring joy into father's heart again."

Gwendolyn looked long at the dress in the mirror, and at her sister behind her, wraith-like in white with her silver white hair and pale skin. She sighed.

"It will be as you ask then, I will stay tomorrow, but only if you promise to return to your chambers now to sleep before the battle."

Her sister smiled, leaning in to give her a kiss on the back of her head as Gwendolyn watched her in the mirror.

"Farewell then, little bird. I will retire for the night and take my rest. My heart will go with you tomorrow; I hope we can both revel in the success of our conflicting actions then."

As her sister walked to the door, Gwendolyn felt an odd sense of loss at the absence of her comforting presence at her back.

"Griselda," she called, stopping her sister as she opened the chamber door. Her sister paused, her eyes serious and shadowed. "My heart will be with you on the morrow too," she told her.

"Then both our hearts will be glad," whispered her sister with a private smile, and she slipped out of the door and into the night.

Gwendolyn walked out onto the balcony again, feeling the cool night air buffer against the layers of fine fabric she wore. She looked up into the stars, feeling that she had lost the part of herself that was Valkyrie for a moment. She tried to ignore the weight of her mother's gown, confining her wings, and wondered if it would make her father smile.


	3. Odin's daughter

Oswald paced, frustrated.

Queen Elfaria had apparently been impressed by the power of the Belderiver, and charmed at the idea of its might when used against their enemies, but she would not yet permit its mass production. Although the dark instrument turned Oswald's stomach at times, he knew how his father suffered for having his plan knocked back, and as Oswald owed the man all that he was, he suffered alike.

How many more of the fairy kingdom must die before the queen would permit what was obviously their only chance of redemption? Why did she resist?

Paranoia plagued him, was this also Brom's doing? Had he been in the queen's ear, trying to blacken his father's name? Surely not, Melvin was Elfaria's blood after all; she would not permit such slander against him. He merely suffered his own guilt, he had not seen fit to pass on Brom's betrayal to Melvin as yet; he was caught between his fondness for the dwarf and his dedication to his father. Eventually, however, he would have to speak of it.

Oswald's lip twitched with distaste as he saw a young monarch-winged female hovering on the edge of his vision. Now he had to rein in his anger again and find his courtly face; he felt the pull of the dark Belderiver, and it tore at him, demanding he quench his anger with blood. It would be easier if others weren't so tentative around him; the avoidance galled him, and it fuelled the fury of his sword.

He steadied his breathing, finding a rhythmic pace to adhere to while he let the anger siphon away. When he was calm again, he lifted his chin, meeting the monarch's eyes. Her wings were a glorious yellow behind her, and it made his eyes water slightly at the luminescence as he tried to focus on her face.

"Shadow Knight," she half whispered, swallowing heavily. "The messengers are here, if you could-"

"Fine," he interrupted. It was the only reason he'd been staying so close to the accursed castle at such a busy time of day, after all. "I'll let Lord Melvin know, thanks for passing on the message."

The 'thanks' stuck in his throat, but only because he knew it was likely the fairies had drawn lots on who would come to relay the information to him.

He made his way to the Ringford Gardens, he knew he'd find Melvin there; still licking his wounds after his confrontation with Elfaria. It had become quite heated between them, apparently, but both were too stubborn to back down from their stance on the weapon in question.

As he felt the familiar soft glow of the twilight flowers wash over him; and with it a feeling of peace, he saw Melvin through one of the lattice arches. As Oswald passed through the garden divider the sparkling lights, which he had thought were a feature of its design, exploded into the sky in a rush of silvery wings. Momentarily startled, he paused, and noticed that his father was deep in conversation with the very dwarf who had been heavy in his own thoughts. Strains of their conversation floated to him on the heady garden scent.

"-The queen highly praised the sword you created…"

"-Terrified… turned into ghosts… Oswald…"

Oswald felt his ears prick at the sound of his own name as he stepped closer, unsure of whether he should practice silence or announce his arrival.

"Don't look so glum Brom, Oswald shall be fine. He is a true swordsman."

Oswald felt a warm glow from the praise of his father, and worked at making his footfalls louder amongst the lush greenery he navigated. When he raised his eyes from his feet, he looked directly up and into Melvin's own, and although Brom looked shocked at his sudden appearance he had a suspicious feeling that Melvin had been aware of his proximity for some time.

He schooled his voice to coolness. "Melvin, the messengers are calling."

He did not want it known he had been eavesdropping on them, it had hardly been intentional. His step father's compliment would warm him for some time to come in the dark shadow of the Belderiver, however.

Melvin had a sly smile, and Oswald could not discern whether the man suspected he had overheard them or not. "I shall be there shortly."

Oswald inclined his head, and then turned to go. It was only as he made his way back through the arch again, already alight with glimmering insect carapaces, that he heard Brom's closing words reach him on a soft breeze.

"...I never should have crafted that weapon. It will part the heavens and tear the earth asunder."

Oswald felt a shiver run up his spine, as if it were some self-fulfilling prophecy, and clenched his hand over the sheath of the Belderiver.

He began to walk faster, not back to the castle, but further out into the gardens. The twilight flowers were not stilling the unease in his heart as they usually did, even with the soft light of phozons dancing in the air. The thrum of the Belderiver would not quiet; as if Brom's parting words had called it by name. It was awake, a blasphemy in this holy garden of purity, as was he. Holding the combined maliciousness in check was wearing on him today.

He soon realised his own disquiet had dulled his senses when he felt another presence come uncomfortably close, and without due warning.

"Oswald, I must speak up."

He spun to find Brom standing behind him; he had clearly followed after him once he had finished his conversation with Melvin. He clenched his teeth together tightly, ignoring the need to draw his blade after being taken by surprise.

"Listen to me... This is about the fate of your sword," cried Brom, clearly sensing the dismissal in his stance.

_The Belderiver? _Oswald gave the dwarf a hard look.

Brom returned it nervously. "Those Revenants up in the mountains... they are former users of the Belderiver."

Oswald frowned, had he heard wrong? The Revenants were little more than malicious spirits, they could never wield a sword, they were incorporeal beings. The little man was clearly addled.

"What is it...?" he asked, feeling weary already.

"I deeply regret handing you that sword," sighed the little man, failing to register Oswal'd disinterest. "That blade will take its wielder to the Netherworld, where he loses his soul-"

"The same fate awaits you!" yelled Melvin, storming up behind them both.

Oswald felt another blow to his warrior credibility as he failed to recognise the second approaching party; he was slipping in his fatigue.

His father was fuming; clearly he had expected Brom's duplicity and followed closely behind him. He had arrived flanked by tall, twinned scarab-wing guards, who were clearly itching for a fight. Perhaps Oswald's story of Brom's slander was unrequired after all? He should have credited that Melvin would already be aware of any small signs of betrayal; he was the commander of the Vanir army, after all.

"Brom!" Melvin seethed. "I told you; it won't do you any good."

Oswald watched the crestfallen dwarfs face fill with fear. His lips shook, making his little beard wobble, but he said nothing.

"Right now, your reluctance is holding back the war efforts of our nation," hissed Melvin; "But, it is not in my nature to soil my hands with the blood of my friends."

Brom looked markedly relieve to hear it, a weak smile not quite breaking through his nervous sweat.

The returned smile could have cut the little man in half. "I shall send you to the Netherworld. The Halja will take care of you."

All of the colour drained from Brom's face and his whole body began to tremble. Unthinkingly, he reached for Melvin's frock coat, his short, dirty fingers marring its perfect lustred surface.

Melvin gave him a disgusted look. "Take the traitor away," he spat.

The scarab guards stepped forwards, roughly grabbing at the unresisting dwarf. In a flash of glossy, jade armour, they had each pinned an arm between them and began to haul Brom away.

"Lord Melvin!" shouted the little man, now seemingly unafraid in his desperation. "The pride that keeps you so fearless will be the thing that leads to your death!"

Oswald looked on as the dwarf began to struggle and was forcibly dragged through the gardens, and away. His mouth was dry, was this all his fault? Brom had come to talk to _him_, and_ he_ had known about his earlier disloyalty, if he had spoken of it sooner could he have prevented this harsh punishment? What chance could Brom possibly stand against a Halja? He turned to his father, who was still watching the guards with a curiously bland expression.

"He fears the power of the sword and has lost his nerve," Melvin muttered under his breath. He shifted his weight and faced Oswald again. "Don't concern yourself," he said, brushing dirt from his coat absentmindedly. Then he peered at him, as if scenting further conspiracy in the air. "Or... Are you beginning to despise the sword yourself?"

Oswald felt his blood chill at the ice in his step father's voice. "I... All I wish is to be able to continue serving you." He paused, this was true, even if it were he who had been asked to drag Brom to the Netherworld for Melvin, he would have done it in a heartbeat. "I shall obey your commands."

"Ah, Oswald," Melvin smiled, finally warming. "I'm so lucky to have such a devoted son."

Oswald ducked his head, it was not often that Melvin spoke of the fostering, it pleased him. Even so, a shadow hung over the happiness, tarnished by the preceding events.

Melvin grinned, as if sensing his fractured thoughts and hoping to channel them. "Now come here. I have a task only you can perform."

His father began to walk towards the forest border, and Oswald found that he was soon following after him.

"'Tis reconnaissance into the very heart of the enemy."

As Oswald listened to the task required of him, and Melvin's meticulous instructions, he found himself distracted. Strangely, he could no longer remember the praise his father had paid him earlier, and his heart was tight and congested from its loss.

It had been easy to cross the border this time.

It didn't hurt that he rode the back of the Vanir army, once they had clashed with the Aesir on the border of the Raging Battlefields it had simply been a matter of navigating the conflict itself, which he was all too familiar with. He doubted his exit from Ragnanival would be quite so easy upon his return, but making his way into the city of Nepulapolis had been pathetically simple. It was only a short distance now to the Demon Lord's castle.

The Demon Lord Odin. If only his father had charged him with his death, instead he was sent to scout for information from his very stronghold. The Aesir had long been trying to invade Ringford, but his father now suspected he knew why, they were seeking the Crystallisation Cauldron. The cauldron itself was a tool of destruction, created by the mad king of the lost city of Valentine; it had brought about the end of that empire. It had the power to turn phozons into psyphers, much like the blade Oswald wore at his side, and he suspected Brom's creation stemmed from some similar mechanism.

In the right hands it might be a powerful ally, if not for the fact that phozons were the life source of the fairies, and that the cauldron itself sucked them directly from the land, leaving it desolate and infertile. The Aesir did not care about that, they would use it to gather as many phozons as they could, blackening the soil which was the lifeblood of the fairy kingdom. Even so, possessing it would gain them nothing if they did not have the mechanism to command the cauldron. Oswald did not know what the key to its power was, but it was held by Queen Elfaria, a useful tool for gathering phozons to nourish her kingdom. King Odin knew nothing of the key.

Weaving past tall, ivory columns, Oswald realised he had at some point made the transition from city to castle. He stood now in the home of the Demon Lord, and the grandeur of the seat of power was no less great than that of the fairies home. Every surface was paved with marble, glossy and perfect, and much of the structure was open to the weather, wall-less. He suspected the Valkyrie's preferred it this way, being winged creatures, anything less might feel like a cage, and he wondered that such ideals had never been considered by the Vanir. The halls seemed to stretch on forever, vast and exposed, and Oswald would have felt trepidation had both city and castle not been so deserted. Or perhaps he should feel vulnerable because of just such a reason? Surely all the populace could not be out on the battlefield?

As if to pay mock credence to his thoughts, he rounded a corner to find himself in company, and quickly ducked into the shadow of a nearby pillar.

A huge, burly man sat on a plush red rug, platters and wineskins littered around him. He wore little armour, but his skin appeared so leathery that it seemed as if little would be required, no doubt his hide was just as hard to pierce without it. Huge furs were draped about his shoulders and he had a great shock of red, scruffy hair which encompassed the long red moustache which was lost amongst it; Oswald recognised him from stories of battle. Lord Brigand, Odin's war general, but what was he doing here when the battlefields were filled?

The humongous man raised a huge horn of spirits to his mouth and quaffed it noisily, letting the overflow trickle down his chin carelessly. In his other hand he held a huge war hammer, and he seemed to grip it tightly, as if angrily gathering his thoughts.

"The Demon Lord will hear this and be dumbfounded. Odin, you coward!" he suddenly yelled. "Denying my strategy and launching a sneak attack with the Valkyries."

Oswald blinked in surprise; he suspected the man must be drunk, even at this hour, to be taking his anger out on an empty room. As Brigand took another swig from his flagon, however, he realised the room was not empty at all. Next to the general there was a spindly older man, wearing red robes and with a long, white beard, which he was stroking like a pet. He had simply been overshadowed by the overbearing presence of the other.

"'Tis a timid move to make against the Fairies," agreed the wizened man.

"Exactly!" shouted the large man. "All we have to do is stomp those winged bugs on the front lines."

Oswald watched as a Valkyrie maid timidly entered and bowed to Lord Brigan, placing another platter amongst his generous feast. He felt his lip curl; he made his own warriors into little more than servants? How humiliating for them.

"All of you... You're all cowards!" roared Brigan to her retreating back, which Oswald could see was stiff with outrage.

The man with the white beard leaned in closer. "Lord Brigan, methinks you might be more suitable to lead the country."

Brigan wiped the back of his arm across his mouth. "You think so? You flatter me, Skuldi. Do you really think that?"

Skuldi grinned, his yellow, aged teeth flashing in a horrific display. "Yes, of course. Odin is a feeble old man. Only you can run the nation."

Oswald tried to reposition himself better to get a good view of the duplicitous old man; this sort of treasonous talk would be of great interest to Melvin.

"Eh?" the old man turned in his direction and Oswald cursed inwardly at the clink of his heavy armour. "Who goes there?"

Brigan sobered immediately, glaring into the shadows which no longer protected Oswald's presence. "What? Is someone hiding?"

There was nothing for it now, he had been detected. Ready to face the men he stepped out and into the light of the room.

"And just who are you? You'd like to share a drink with us, eh?" jeered Brigan. "If not, don't interfere!"

Oswald hesitated, were they really not going to challenge his presence? Schooling his features, he turned to leave them.

"...Wait a minute," grumbled the huge man, thoughtfully. "You were listening to us just now, weren't you?"

The mountain stood, and Oswald felt his pulse quicken at the very bulk of the giant as he advanced, heavy battle hammer in hand. "Who are you!? Speak, or I'll crush your head until your name falls out!"

Without waiting for a reply, however, he swung his hammer towards him, and Oswald leapt back and away, out of the path of his cleave. Before he knew it, the Belderiver was in his hand, its blighted energy numbing his arm and threatening to overtake him. He refused to be overcome however, instead wielding it without giving in to the dark force behind it, and slashing at the huge man before him.

It was not in his best interests to kill Brigan, this man was an unlikely ally if he aimed to betray King Odin, a kingdom fraught by political conflict would be easier to capture, after all. Oswald aimed for the small circle plates of armour that the man wore, instead of flesh, using his speed to overtake the man.

Although Brigan was strong, he was slow, his hammer would swing fast enough, but he failed to deflect Oswald's own attacks in turn. The knight had no doubt, however, that should he find himself under the hammers blow, he would be crushed.

As the battle went on Brigan became tired, the swing of his hammer becoming sloppy, and Oswald knew it was time to end the fight. Drawing on a small portion of the dark energy of the sword, he gathered strength, channelling it into his next blow. As he laid the flat of his sword heavily across Brigand's helm he felt it crack, the dizzying blow leaving the humungous man stumbling about, until he toppled to the floor, unconscious.

Skuldi was nowhere to be seen, he had clearly made himself scarce as soon as danger had reared its ugly head.

Oswald looked down at the comatose mountain of a man, his sword burned in his hand, demanding an end to the life before it. Instead Oswald sheathed it, kicking over trays of food to help alleviate the destructive instinct in him until it passed. He was breathing heavily by the time it had calmed, not from the exertions of the battle, but from the strain of keeping his own body in check.

And his task was not yet done.

He continued forward through the castle again, more carefully this time. It would not be long before the general was found unconscious, or more likely woke, he must make haste. He was not made for subterfuge, however, his armour clattered as he ran. Invisibility wasn't worth much when they could hear him coming, but it couldn't be helped.

Soon enough he found the throne room, empty, as so many other rooms had been before it. He approached the grand seat of power, which was surprisingly simple in its ornamentation, considering the grandness of the castle. This room, too, was open, and he caught sight of the Ragnanival sky, full of spiralling stars despite the fact that it could be no later than midday. It reminded him of the eternal twilight of the Ringford Gardens, perhaps the two places were not so very different, after all.

Next to the throne was a missive, clearly written by one of the Valkyrie warriors.

_Your Highness_

_General Brigan has absconded from battle; he is angered that his foolhardy tactical plan has been ignored. If the battle for the cauldron becomes dire enough he will enter the battlegrounds to seize the day, but will expect to be rewarded equally, to merit the assistance he provides to a failing army._

_Rosalinn_

So the man was not on the killing fields because of some dispute over tactics, what a traitorous villain. Surely King Odin would strike him down for such insubordination?

_Odin. So he is after the Cauldron. The general spoke the truth. The invasion is almost here._

As he replaced the note carefully, he felt a warning tingle in the air. Glancing around quickly, he noticed a safe outcropping in the buttresses above him. Seconds later he had leapt to safety, calling on some of the swords power to wrap himself in shadow. A woman entered the room below, followed closely by a pooka.

"Oh," said the woman, seeming disappointed, "he is not yet here, Myris."

The pooka flapped its ears and smoothed down its frock, giving the woman a kindly look. "Princess Gwendolyn, it fits you perfectly."

The girl, Gwendolyn, smiled sweetly, looking down at her dress. "Do you think so? I wonder if Father will be surprised..."

Her words were cut off by the thunderous footsteps of the man himself. King Odin swept into the room, his cape billowing behind him. His long beard was a starlit white, just as Gwendolyn's hair, and atop it perched a golden crown.

He regarded his daughter angrily. "Gwendolyn! Why are you wearing that!?" He stormed forward, huge plates of his armour gnashing like teeth, and passed by her roughly. "For King Odin's daughter to be concerned with her image instead of battle, you could learn a thing or two from your sister."

Oswald gaped. This was the Demon Lord's daughter? A Valkyrie? She looked every inch a maiden princess. The soft blue of her silk gown sparkled under the Ragnanival stars, her silky, silver hair cascading prettily over bare shoulders.

"...M-My apologies..." Gwendolyn stuttered, clearly taken aback by her father's cold attitude.

As Oswald contemplated the princess, he knew she couldn't possibly be the woman they called 'Odin's Witch,' not this soft creature, it must be the sister they spoke of.

Below, another Valkyrie rushed into the room, forcing the King to turn back towards his daughter, although he did not look at her.

Breathless, the Valkyrie looked up at the towering king. "Your Majesty, Lord Brigan..."

King Odin let out an angry sigh "What is that fool doing now!?"

So he had been discovered, it was well past time that Oswald leave this place, but the space below was still occupied. As the Demon Lord marched from the room, the young Valkyrie bowed to Gwendolyn. "Lady witch," she said, with a reverent awe, before following her king.

_Witch… Odin's Witch?_

Left alone, Gwendolyn watched them go with a complicated expression. "He didn't notice... This was mother's dress." She turned back to Myris. "I wonder if he'll ever remember it?"

"I apologise," lamented the pooka. "I shouldn't have brought the dress."

Gwendolyn smiled weakly. "No... Don't apologise, Myris. It was Griselda's idea, and mine, you are not to blame." She ran a loving hand across the ruffled layers of fabric skirt. "I'm happy to be able to wear my mother's dress. But..."

Myris placed her tiny paw upon Gwendolyn's hand. "Princess Gwendolyn..."

"I had hoped he would smile." Her own smiled faded at the sentiment, sudden steeled by decision. "Let's go, I must change into my armour."

Oswald watched her dress flutter as she and Myris left the room, a single feather was whisked by the movement of that skirt, and landed gently on the ground; evidence of the wings that must be hidden beneath the reams of fabric.

After their departure, he dropped from his hiding place, landing quietly, and stooped to pick it up. So preciously fragile and such a beautiful blue hue, yet those same wings were used to soar into battle. As he admired the feather, he felt that perhaps it was like the woman herself.

"Gwendolyn... The Demon Lord's daughter, known as 'Odin's Witch.'" He spoke aloud to the empty room, as if to assuage his own guilt. "Could that be her?"

Of course he knew that it must be, and he had once sworn to himself that should he ever cross her path he would strike her down for his father's sake. Yet, now that he had seen her, could he claim it was only the secrecy of his mission that had stilled his blade? He would be discovered by Brigan's testimony, surely? No, it was not his mission which had kept death at bay. Watching her, a woman whose eyes glittered, as if full of tears which were never allowed to fall. He'd felt the same peace he usually did within the Ringford Gardens. He felt he'd met a similar soul, someone who would understand the loneliness as only he did. Surely not, though, he had no people of his own. Here, at least, she had a kingdom of other Valkyries to find solace in. He was fooling himself.

Carefully, he tucked the blue feather into the lining of his armour, close to his heart. "She seems so... different from what I've heard," he mused.

He delayed only a moment longer, considering the space she had recently vacated, as if some trace of her remained.

It was time to leave.

He jumped down from the parapet and made his way back through the city, out into the Raging Battlegrounds beyond.

* * *

It's only now that I'm writing this that I realise how complicated the land of Erion is, the history and personages are blowing me away. I have to be really careful to research each chapter before posting so I don't make any mistakes (which hopefully I haven't).


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